Reunion Chapter II
June 18, 2004
By evening, the snow was still falling, though the wind was calming down. Men carefully inspected their weapons, weapons of stone and wood, the traditional weapons of their people.
The old man talked with Buffy, as much to ease his own tension as to keep her from pacing.
"We had forgotten how to hunt as we once did, and to fight evil with the weapons of our ancestors, but have relearned many of the old skills. We asked for help in striking against the evil spirits, and it has been given to us. Above all, we try to restore the old ways, for they are better weapons than guns for us. That is why we do not hunt in the days before great battles. We are at peace with the creatures of the forest, for we fight for them as well as for ourselves. But you have seen that we were given a gift, the flesh of the deer to strengthen us, but not the blood."
"Whoever gave that to you has two big teeth and drinks blood. I'm not so sure it wasn't that thing last night that killed the deer."
"If the deer had been killed by ... it would have been spread over half a square mile of forest. Our protector has helped us, but we do not know him. Still, we believe that he is not evil, and he has helped us so far. We shall see."
"He? You don't know who this is?" The mystery of the deer was bothering her. She couldn't quite put her finger on ... "It's not ... one of the old spirits?"
"None that we know. But we have forgotten much of what we once knew."
The old man stood up and stared out the window.
"The snow is letting up, but it is dark now. You cannot leave. I must prepare. Stay here and you will be safe."
"I can fight."
"Then take this." The old man tossed her a large axe.
Buffy deftly caught the weapon, spun it about, tossed it from hand to hand, brandished it, threw it spinning into the air, caught it.
The old man looked at her thoughtfully. Clearly, he had expected her to flinch and drop it.
"This night is full of surprises. Forgive me if I have misjudged you, but my eyes are old and do not see as clearly as they once did." He spoke to her then in his own language, but quickly saw that she didn't understand. "Are you a spirit guardian, sent to help our people?"
"It's a long story. I was sent to help ... another place. But my ... task was completed. Now..." Now, what? She was a free ranging do-gooder?
She had been a prisoner to the Hellmouth, a puppet moving to the unseen strings that moved her along her destiny as a slayer. She had resisted the call, accepted it, resented it. Now the weight of that responsibility was lifted from her. She had her life. Almost. The strings had been cut, but somehow, she had been drawn here. Coincidence, for her to have arrived at this place, at this time? Hardly. And this wasn't the first time.
"You saved that place?"
"Well, kind of."
"I must talk with the others." He excused himself and left the hut to join the others. He returned a short time later.
"Soon, we will start to prepare to meet our enemy. When we do, we ask you to stay here and protect the homes and the women."
"But..."
"We do not doubt your courage or your strength, but this is our battle and we must fight it."
"But..."
"It is our way."
"Well. Okay. I'll stay here. But can you at least tell me what you're fighting?"
"We have never seen it, but we have fought its servants. Tonight, we will look our enemy in the face."
He left then, and returned to the other shack. Buffy picked up the axe again, hefted it. Weapons training. She hadn't kept it up. Truth be told, she had slacked off. What happened to slayers when they got old? No one knew. It didn't happen. She stretched and began to prepare herself.
----------------------
Lunge. Strike. Block. Kick.
Buffy was getting used to the axe, but she wished she had a sword.
She thought of her earliest workouts under Giles' watchful eye. Giles. High school librarian. How many students would remember him at all? What up and coming literary figure had been inspired by a suggested reading? What rocket scientist had Giles helped in researching an old high school science project? Buffy didn't know.
He'd spent so much of his time with her, preparing her. She hadn't made it easy on him. She had to admire the man. He had kept her in shape, kept her alive until ... It was hard on both of them when the time came for her to stand on her own.
Giles had played his part in saving the world through her. Now that was all over. He was happier now, back in England, with his books and ... whatever it was he was up to. He wouldn't be at the reunion.
----------------------
The snow stopped falling and the sky cleared. The wind died. The men chanted in the other hut. It would not be long. Near midnight, they marched out. All the women gathered in the hut with Buffy, some sitting by the fire, others peering out the window. Buffy fought the urge to pace.
The howling sounded again, far off. Angry, indignant. The men had stuck. Time passed.
In the still night air, the far off sounds of shouting and fighting reached the cabin. Getting nearer.
A group of men staggered into the clearing and stumbled toward the hut. They entered, wounded, bleeding, and the women tended their wounds.
Buffy couldn't understand what they were saying, but it seemed as if they had accomplished something. The fight wasn't over, however, and it was getting closer.
A couple of other figures burst into the clearing. Not men, but hideous, beastly creatures. some fell, stuck with arrows. More figures emerged, fighting. The beasts, minions of some demon, evidently, were driven back by the men and by ... among the men was someone else. Someone who looked like a man, but was stronger, tougher. Recognition hit Buffy.
Then the howl started again, filled with hatred and malice. Its impact was staggering. And it was close. The cabin shook and groaned as an enormous clawed fist slammed through the back wall. Buffy helped the women and the wounded scramble out the door. They made it out as the cabin collapsed. And enormous demon advanced over the wreckage, roaring and stomping on the ruined roof before leaping to the ground and advancing on the small group. One of the wounded men threw a spear at it, but the creature batted it aside. Roaring, it charged.
Buffy rolled, kicked out at its legs. The creature fell, recovered, fell again as she ducked beneath its claws, struck again breaking several of the creatures ribs. She moved in to strike it in the face, but fractionally too slow. The creature raked its claws across her side, tearing her coat and sending her flying. She rolled and recovered, noticing a pink stain on the snow. The demon had drawn first blood. Now, as it advanced again, a man charged with a spear, struck a sure blow, but was knocked flat by the enraged demon.
Buffy picked up a log from the fallen cabin, swung it, struck the demon once, twice. Staggering, the demon charged again, knocked the log aside, pinned Buffy down with a massive paw and cocked its other arm for a final, fatal blow. A spear pierced its eye and it fell backward on the ground, roaring, whimpering, twitching, dying. It dissolved into a stinking goo that melted the snow. Its few surviving minions fled.
Buffy stood up, stumbled, fell to one knee. She found it hard to breathe. Women rushed to support her and hustled her into one of the other cabins with the wounded. The old man was there, lying on a cot, gravely injured.
He smiled weakly when he saw her. "The land will be healed now. But I will not live to see it."
Buffy choked back tears and put on a brave face. "Hang in there. I don't want to be the one who ... brought you bad luck."
"It was not your doing. And there are worse ways to die. It was good fortune that brought you here, and you have done my people a great service."
Exhausted, the old man lay back. He didn't speak again.
June 18, 2004
By evening, the snow was still falling, though the wind was calming down. Men carefully inspected their weapons, weapons of stone and wood, the traditional weapons of their people.
The old man talked with Buffy, as much to ease his own tension as to keep her from pacing.
"We had forgotten how to hunt as we once did, and to fight evil with the weapons of our ancestors, but have relearned many of the old skills. We asked for help in striking against the evil spirits, and it has been given to us. Above all, we try to restore the old ways, for they are better weapons than guns for us. That is why we do not hunt in the days before great battles. We are at peace with the creatures of the forest, for we fight for them as well as for ourselves. But you have seen that we were given a gift, the flesh of the deer to strengthen us, but not the blood."
"Whoever gave that to you has two big teeth and drinks blood. I'm not so sure it wasn't that thing last night that killed the deer."
"If the deer had been killed by ... it would have been spread over half a square mile of forest. Our protector has helped us, but we do not know him. Still, we believe that he is not evil, and he has helped us so far. We shall see."
"He? You don't know who this is?" The mystery of the deer was bothering her. She couldn't quite put her finger on ... "It's not ... one of the old spirits?"
"None that we know. But we have forgotten much of what we once knew."
The old man stood up and stared out the window.
"The snow is letting up, but it is dark now. You cannot leave. I must prepare. Stay here and you will be safe."
"I can fight."
"Then take this." The old man tossed her a large axe.
Buffy deftly caught the weapon, spun it about, tossed it from hand to hand, brandished it, threw it spinning into the air, caught it.
The old man looked at her thoughtfully. Clearly, he had expected her to flinch and drop it.
"This night is full of surprises. Forgive me if I have misjudged you, but my eyes are old and do not see as clearly as they once did." He spoke to her then in his own language, but quickly saw that she didn't understand. "Are you a spirit guardian, sent to help our people?"
"It's a long story. I was sent to help ... another place. But my ... task was completed. Now..." Now, what? She was a free ranging do-gooder?
She had been a prisoner to the Hellmouth, a puppet moving to the unseen strings that moved her along her destiny as a slayer. She had resisted the call, accepted it, resented it. Now the weight of that responsibility was lifted from her. She had her life. Almost. The strings had been cut, but somehow, she had been drawn here. Coincidence, for her to have arrived at this place, at this time? Hardly. And this wasn't the first time.
"You saved that place?"
"Well, kind of."
"I must talk with the others." He excused himself and left the hut to join the others. He returned a short time later.
"Soon, we will start to prepare to meet our enemy. When we do, we ask you to stay here and protect the homes and the women."
"But..."
"We do not doubt your courage or your strength, but this is our battle and we must fight it."
"But..."
"It is our way."
"Well. Okay. I'll stay here. But can you at least tell me what you're fighting?"
"We have never seen it, but we have fought its servants. Tonight, we will look our enemy in the face."
He left then, and returned to the other shack. Buffy picked up the axe again, hefted it. Weapons training. She hadn't kept it up. Truth be told, she had slacked off. What happened to slayers when they got old? No one knew. It didn't happen. She stretched and began to prepare herself.
----------------------
Lunge. Strike. Block. Kick.
Buffy was getting used to the axe, but she wished she had a sword.
She thought of her earliest workouts under Giles' watchful eye. Giles. High school librarian. How many students would remember him at all? What up and coming literary figure had been inspired by a suggested reading? What rocket scientist had Giles helped in researching an old high school science project? Buffy didn't know.
He'd spent so much of his time with her, preparing her. She hadn't made it easy on him. She had to admire the man. He had kept her in shape, kept her alive until ... It was hard on both of them when the time came for her to stand on her own.
Giles had played his part in saving the world through her. Now that was all over. He was happier now, back in England, with his books and ... whatever it was he was up to. He wouldn't be at the reunion.
----------------------
The snow stopped falling and the sky cleared. The wind died. The men chanted in the other hut. It would not be long. Near midnight, they marched out. All the women gathered in the hut with Buffy, some sitting by the fire, others peering out the window. Buffy fought the urge to pace.
The howling sounded again, far off. Angry, indignant. The men had stuck. Time passed.
In the still night air, the far off sounds of shouting and fighting reached the cabin. Getting nearer.
A group of men staggered into the clearing and stumbled toward the hut. They entered, wounded, bleeding, and the women tended their wounds.
Buffy couldn't understand what they were saying, but it seemed as if they had accomplished something. The fight wasn't over, however, and it was getting closer.
A couple of other figures burst into the clearing. Not men, but hideous, beastly creatures. some fell, stuck with arrows. More figures emerged, fighting. The beasts, minions of some demon, evidently, were driven back by the men and by ... among the men was someone else. Someone who looked like a man, but was stronger, tougher. Recognition hit Buffy.
Then the howl started again, filled with hatred and malice. Its impact was staggering. And it was close. The cabin shook and groaned as an enormous clawed fist slammed through the back wall. Buffy helped the women and the wounded scramble out the door. They made it out as the cabin collapsed. And enormous demon advanced over the wreckage, roaring and stomping on the ruined roof before leaping to the ground and advancing on the small group. One of the wounded men threw a spear at it, but the creature batted it aside. Roaring, it charged.
Buffy rolled, kicked out at its legs. The creature fell, recovered, fell again as she ducked beneath its claws, struck again breaking several of the creatures ribs. She moved in to strike it in the face, but fractionally too slow. The creature raked its claws across her side, tearing her coat and sending her flying. She rolled and recovered, noticing a pink stain on the snow. The demon had drawn first blood. Now, as it advanced again, a man charged with a spear, struck a sure blow, but was knocked flat by the enraged demon.
Buffy picked up a log from the fallen cabin, swung it, struck the demon once, twice. Staggering, the demon charged again, knocked the log aside, pinned Buffy down with a massive paw and cocked its other arm for a final, fatal blow. A spear pierced its eye and it fell backward on the ground, roaring, whimpering, twitching, dying. It dissolved into a stinking goo that melted the snow. Its few surviving minions fled.
Buffy stood up, stumbled, fell to one knee. She found it hard to breathe. Women rushed to support her and hustled her into one of the other cabins with the wounded. The old man was there, lying on a cot, gravely injured.
He smiled weakly when he saw her. "The land will be healed now. But I will not live to see it."
Buffy choked back tears and put on a brave face. "Hang in there. I don't want to be the one who ... brought you bad luck."
"It was not your doing. And there are worse ways to die. It was good fortune that brought you here, and you have done my people a great service."
Exhausted, the old man lay back. He didn't speak again.